


Building Blocks

by Camiara



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe, Betcha didn't see that coming, F/M, I promise, M/M, Multi, you really won't see that coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:31:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camiara/pseuds/Camiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life had been so good to Alex Hamilton and Jack Laurens for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Plotbunny sprang into my head while I was supposed to be studying for finals.

“Jackie, sweetheart, we’re out of milk.”

Alex Hamilton and Jack Laurens lived in an apartment on Bennett Avenue in Washington Heights.

“Do you want me to pick it up after school?”

It was both of their first attempts at cohabitation, but something about it felt so perfect, so right, that after only six months of living together, Alex had started saving up to buy a ring for Jack.

“If you have time; if not, I can get some while I’m out.”

Home was located just around the corner from Apt. 78, a lounge that had an open mic night (something especially attractive to Alex, who was an up-and-coming spoken word poet), but still close by the school where Jack was finishing his degree in social work.

Jack sat at the kitchen table reading Alex’s latest composition absentmindedly stirring his black coffee. Alex leaned on the counter, watching his partner while dejectedly eating dry Frosted Flakes out of the box.

“Shit, don’t forget that Herc wanted us to bring him food at the station tonight, too.” Jack stood up and threw his backpack over his shoulder, walking over to Alex. “Could you cook that?”

“Definitely.” Alex leaned forward to give Jack a quick kiss. “Don’t kill your professors please.”

“No promises. I love you.”

 

When Alex came out to his parents as bisexual, it was a bit of a surprise for them. He had always been reliable with the ladies throughout high school and his brief attempt at college, but when he, at twenty-one years old, had brought the slim, freckled, mixed young man home to his Puerto Rican parents, it had been an interesting conversation. Alex came from a loving and accepting household, and his parents readily accepted him as gay, but even after two years they still had a hard time wrapping their heads around bisexuality. Regardless, they loved Jack and fully supported his relationship with their son.

Alex and Jack were chased out of the Laurens household.

Other than that incident, two queer Latino men living together was easily accepted in New York City. Alex counted that among his blessings, and joked with Jack that the high cost of living in the city was actually to pay for the accepting nature of the people around them.

Yes, the life of Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens was a great one, and Alex intended for it to stay that way.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Alex never really knew how it started.

He remembered thinking that there was an unusual amount of emergency vehicles in the city today, but he stayed inside, writing, and he never turned on the television or checked his phone.

Jack came home from school that afternoon, breathless, terrified.

Alex was at his desk and no sooner had the door slammed shut behind Jack then the wails of police sirens flew past the open window.

“They blocked off Harlem,” Jack gasped. He was doubled over and panting and it looked like he had sprinted the whole way back to the apartment.

“Who? Why?” Alex had jumped up from his seat, papers flying from the abrupt movement, and was now half carrying him to the loveseat.

“FDNY has engines blocking every street into the neighborhood,” Jack finally said, “and NYPD isn’t letting anybody in or out. I got out right before the rest of the squad cars showed up…” He screwed shut his eyes and choked back a sob. “Some kid was acting crazy in front of Fairway so somebody called 911, and… Two officers showed up. The kid took down one officer and just… Alex, he fuckin’ tore him apart, and…” He scrubbed at his eyes and sobbed again. “The officer was down and dead, and… and his partner shot the kid, and… fuck.”

Alex, sitting next to Jack, cupped his face in his hands. “Hey, hey! Look at me.” Jack’s eyes opened slightly. He fell into Alex’s arms and sobbed into his chest while Alex’s arms tightened around him.

“Alex, he fuckin’ got up and attacked his partner, the officer did. He was dead, Alex! Like, pool of blood, I saw his fuckin’ organs, Alex… fuck…” Confusion and fear formed a pit in Alex’s stomach as he tried to comfort Jack. He sat up slightly and looked at Alex, tears streaking his cheeks. “Everyone ran, and someone said it’s the same shit that happened in LA and Chicago, and… fuck, Alex, what’s happening?”

“Jack, shhh…” Alex pulled Jack into his arms again. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Alex, it’s not… Herc texted me from Queens and he said they’ve already responded to three of these cases over there, and there were another four in the Bronx. He said the whole department is out trying to quarantine them but they keep popping up.”

Alex kissed the top of Jack’s head. “It’s gonna be okay. Nothing is gonna happen to you or me, okay? I promise.” Jack’s small body shook from another sob. “We can leave the city if you want.” Jack nodded. “Okay. Okay babe. That’s fine.”

 

News media hadn’t been covering the incidents.

At 8 o’clock a local news station briefly mentioned a release from the NYPD advising people to watch out for what they believed was a random series of attacks resulting from people on flakka.

By 10 o’clock the coroner stated that a new strain of rabies was infecting humans, but by 6 the next morning it was an unknown medical problem affecting the brain leading to the loss of consciousness and ‘violent tendencies.’ Caution was advised around any people suspected of being affected by the illness.

At 2 PM, twenty-four hours after Jack came home in a panic, Mayor de Blasio announced a state of emergency for the city. Thirty minutes later Obama did the same for all of New England.

The looting started before dinner, and at 9:34 PM, the power went out.

Alex had artfully packed all of their clothes and everything he wrote into two duffel bags, a backpack, and a very overstuffed messenger bag. They had been planning on leaving that night, but with the power being down they agreed that wouldn’t be the best case.

Jack’s alarm went off at 3:30 AM, and him and Alex were out of the house by a quarter to 4.

The streets were mostly empty, surprisingly, with a few distant car alarms. Washington Heights was left mostly alone in the violence so far, but with all mass transit being closed, they were left with little options.

At the front door of their apartment was an FDNY rescue medic ambulance with Firefighter/Paramedic Herc Mulligan in the driver’s seat.

As soon as he spotted Alex and Jack, Herc jumped out of the cab to help them with their bags

“I can get you two to Jersey but after that you’re on your own,” Herc said, opening the doors to the back of the ambulance. “My recommendation is to get as far inland as you can. Get away from civilization.”

“Do you know what’s going on?” Alex asked. He heard sirens in the distance as he deposited their bags in the back.

“Power is out across the city,” Herc said grimly. “Something happened to the central grid. Prob'ly from the rioting. As far as the rest of the country goes, we've been hearing from other first responders that they've been going on all month." He shook his head.

“They’re not staying dead,” Jack said. “I saw the one in Harlem.”

Herc nodded. “The news said, what, people are blacking out? Fuck that.” He dug in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. “Violent tendencies my ass. You got a light, Ham?”

“Yeah.” Alex produced his lighter. Herc handed Alex a cigarette in exchange for the lighter to ignite the one that was between his own lips. He took a deep drag before continuing.

“Yeah, no. It’s the goddamn zombie apocalypse or some shit,” Herc sighed. “Like, first case up here was about a week ago, in Tribeca.” The trio made their way back towards the cab of the ambulance. “Cops tried passing it off as bath salts, like from Miami.”

The deep growl of the engine started before Jack and Alex had buckled up. “Brotha ate a guy’s face, right?” Alex asked. “My aunt was on scene.”

“Yeah, that one,” Herc replied. “Thing is, coupla our guys are from Miami. Said there’s no way that shit was bath salts.”

“The victim didn’t attack the police after his face was eaten in Miami,” Jack said. Herc nodded grimly.

“Come to find out later that this guy just came back from Japan, where shit's been barely contained for about 8 weeks. The guys uptown just today--well, yesterday--decided to let y’all know a bit of what they found out in the medical examination.” The ambulance flew past what appeared to be a shootout. “Something fuckin’ with the brain. Chief thinks it kills the parts that make us people, and that they’re afraid to tell us that.”

Jack laughed aloud as they drove past a block of buildings that had been completely gutted. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to see the fallout from that statement.”

Herc shrugged. “All I know is that 14th Street, south is forsaken as of midnight, and de Blasio has decided to quarantine the city after 5 this morning, nobody comes in or goes out.” They were about to turn on to the Washington Bridge, ignoring the signs labeling it closed for repairs. “Which is basically his way of saying we’re all gonna die.”

“Well, fuck.” Alex finished his cigarette and tossed the butt out the window.

“Chicago, D.C., Atlanta, they’re all getting the same thing is what I’m hearing,” Herc continued, lighting another cigarette. “News stations are trying to keep it on the downlow.”

“Makes sense,” Jack agreed, moving to put a hand on Alex’s knee.

“Most of the firefighters saw it coming and took their families and ran this afternoon. Pigs and the ones unlucky enough to find themselves as medics--like me--had to stay behind.” Herc took a deep shuddering sigh. “I didn’t think this was what Jesus meant when he talked about the resurrection of the dead.”

They shared an uncomfortable laugh.

“Weird that there’s nobody on the bridge,” Jack commented.

“Wouldn’t there be a blockade getting started?” Alex asked. They were nearing the halfway point.

Herc shrugged. "De Blasio hasn’t given any orders on how he expects us to keep the population of New York City contained, but I never said he was--”

Every sense was overloaded at once, and all Alex could really bring from the moment was that there was a lot of heat and light and noise and he was being propelled through a lot of things that weren’t made for him to be propelled through. Several very painful bumps and scratches, and he was in the Hudson River.

As he treaded water, Alex became very aware of three things. One, he had just in fact driven over some sort of explosive. Two, de Blasio’s plan to keep the population contained involved destroying the bridges leading away from the city.

He saw, floating in the debris, a duffel bag and his messenger bag of writings. Herc was crawling onto the western shore dragging the two backpacks. Three, Alex didn’t see Jack anywhere.

_Jack can’t swim._

“Jack!”

 


End file.
